I never imagined that finding a sleek black cat in my garden would lead to a life-altering choice. Returning Archibald to his owner seemed like a simple task until a stranger paid me $100,000 to lie. I was caught between temptation and morality, and I had no idea how much my choice would impact the rest of my life.
That morning, while sipping coffee in my kitchen, I felt a certain type of peace. The house wasn’t much—the basement door got caught in rainy weather, the windows had chipped paint, and the flooring creaked—but it was mine. After five years of putting in additional hours, saving money, and rebuilding my life following the divorce, I had at last earned a place of my own.
I whispered, “Cheers to new beginnings.”
The sunlight poured through the windows, causing the dust particles to shimmer. Anything felt possible, despite the constant drip of the leaky faucet behind me. A glimpse of him appeared in the corner of my eye.
A black cat sat on the stone wall enclosing my yard, sleek as dusk. As he gazed at me, his piercing emerald eyes matched his majestic posture, as though he owned the room.
Walking out into the back porch, I continued to drink my coffee. “Well, handsome, good day.”
The cat stood and stretched languidly, then leaped down with the grace that only cats possess. He came over to me with his tail up and curled like a question mark at the tip. Then, as if we had known each other for years, he rubbed against my leg.
“You’re not friendly?” I got down on my knees and caressed his incredibly silky fur. A metal tag flashed on his collar. “We’ll determine who you belong to.”
The tag’s finely scripted words “Archibald” are followed by a phone number. Like a man in a fur coat, the name sounded elegant and sophisticated.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
With the kind of refined accent you would expect from someone who would name their cat Archibald, the reply was delivered in a deep, steady voice.
“Hello?”
“Hello, I’m phoning about your black cat. Archibald? By chance, he entered my yard.
“Oh, thank you so much.” The relief in his voice was audible. That is my late wife’s cat. He is someone I greatly admire. Is he all right? I’ve been searching for hours.
“He’s doing fine. I feel like he’s known me for a very long time.
The man chuckled. He is quite friendly. Where are you? I’ll be there right away.
Ten minutes later, a vintage Jaguar pulled up outside my house. The driver, a man in his sixties, looked like he was in an old-fashioned film. His sharp blue eyes become softer at the sight of Archibald.
“Old friend, you’re here.”
As he gently lifted the cat into his arms, my throat tightened. Archibald snuggled against his chest and purred contentedly.
“Thank you,” the man responded, handing me a business card. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call. Anything at all.
The name on the card was Mr. Grayson. As I watched them drive away, I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.
Three days later, a loud knock disturbed my morning coffee. A man in an expensive suit stood on my porch, carrying a briefcase and bearing a serious expression.
“My name is Mr. Peters, and I work as a legal consultant. May I come in? It is related to the feline you found.
He sat like he was in a boardroom when I brought him to my old table in the kitchen. He carefully placed his bag on the ruined surface, his leather portfolio seeming absurdly out of place among my yard sale items.
“Mr. Grayson is involved in a legal dispute regarding his late wife’s estate,” he explained. “A significant part of the case involves the cat. He is officially the beneficiary of a $5 million trust.
I blinked. “The cat?”
Yes. And whoever has Archibald’s legal care is the rightful owner of the funds.
My coffee grew cold as he went on. Mrs. Grayson had set up the trust to ensure her beloved cat would always be cared for. However, her sister was contesting the will, claiming that Mr. Grayson had purposefully lost the cat to make the trust void.
“We’re willing to pay you $100,000 to sign this affidavit about how and when you found Archibald,” Peters said, sliding a document toward me.
I stared at it. One hundred thousand dollars. A sum that has the power to transform your life. I could fix the roof, fix the old furnace, and maybe start the side project I’d always wanted.
As I extended my hand to grab the pen, I spotted something on the page.
“This date is incorrect,” I said. “It says I found Archibald a week later than I actually did.”
“The timeline has only been slightly altered.” Peters grinned, his lips tight.
“You’re asking me to lie.”
With ease, he said, “I know this is a lot to think about.” But don’t you think it’s a simple issue and that the compensation we’re offering more than makes up for it?
I twirled the pen in my grasp. If I said one simple lie, I wouldn’t ever have to worry about money again. Then I recalled Mr. Grayson’s face as he held Archibald, his eyes softening and the cat purring.
I said, “I’m sorry,” and set the pen down. “I can’t accomplish that.”
“You don’t understand what you’re turning down,” Peters said, his tone cooling.
“I totally get it. I continue to say no.
That night, I woke up wondering what I had done. Every moan in the house and every drop from the faucet made me feel like I was being made fun of. With just one lie, I could have been financially secure. But every time I closed my eyes and pictured Mr. Grayson holding Archibald, I knew I had made the right choice.
The next morning, there was another knock on the door. This time it was Mr. Grayson.
“I heard about Mr. Peters’ visit,” he said in a sad voice. “I apologize for involving you in this mess,” He handed me a small wooden box and an envelope. “A tiny memento of my gratitude for your candor.”
The box included a delicate silver locket. When I opened it, I noticed a tiny photograph of Archibald.
“It was Eleanor’s favorite,” he muttered. She wore it every day. said it kept him close to her heart.
But I was really taken aback when I opened the envelope.
It included a deed of trust—for a small rental property.
“It’s modest,” he said, noticing my shocked expression. But it should make up for the inconvenience. Good deeds deserve to be rewarded, Eleanor believed.
The rental income was substantial despite the small amount. Enough to enable me to open the ceramics workshop of my dreams and quit my dreary office job.
James and I originally met at a craft fair. He came to buy a bowl and talked for hours. He made me laugh unconsciously and was intelligent and kind. We took our time. Six months later, under a starry sky, he proposed, and it felt natural.
On the morning I found out I was pregnant, Archibald had risen over the same stone wall where I sat in my backyard to watch the sun rise. As my touch landed on my stomach, happy tears fell down my face.
Nine months later, I held my baby for the first time. James kissed my forehead, and for the first time in my life, I felt complete.
Sometimes I think about that morning. About the cat that changed everything. The $100,000 would have been useful for a short while, but what I received in exchange was priceless.
